The Age of Oppression
by TisIJustAGuy
Summary: When the Age of Oppression is over, what has it all amounted to? The Dovahkiin looks back on it all. A Skyrim Songfic with a twist.


**Author's Note: Hey I would just like to thank everyone who liked and reviewed this back when it had awful grammar and plenty of mistakes. I hope you will all enjoy this updated version and I hope you will all keep a lookout for my new Legend of Zelda fic called Behind the Masks, it should be coming out soon. Also, I do not own any of the games in the Elder Scrolls Series and I am not affiliated with Bethesda in any way. Okay well, I hope you enjoy this and I wish you all a Happy New Year!**

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_ "Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy." – F. Scott Fitzgerald_

_We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone._

_For the age of oppression is now nearly done._

It doesn't seem possible. To go from a simple hunter to being the Dragonborn, the hero who's supposed to save the world, in such a short amount of time. It feels like only last week I defeated Alduin. And for every day after that, there was something different. More dragons. Harkon and the vampires. Miraak. A new crisis every day.

_We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own._

_With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home._

I often wonder what would happen if the Empire hadn't caught me hunting near the border that day. I sure wouldn't be caught up in this war I know nothing about. All I know is that the Stormcloaks helped me when I had nothing, I owe them a debt.

_All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!_

_In your great honor, we drink and we sing._

_We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives._

_And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!_

I love this land, Skyrim is my home. I was born and raised here, but I'm not a normal Nord. When I was younger I wasn't like the other Nords who solved all of their problems with their fists. Although in the days since I learned my true "destiny" I've found violence to be, useful, in many cases. But still every day I see it becoming worse, the countless number of bandits that roam the countryside, the racism this war is spreading, fear wrought by the dragons and vampires. If only I could stop all that, then I'd be a true hero.

_But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean._

_Of the scourge, that has sullied our hopes and our dreams._

The worst thing about when I'm gone is that no one will be here to help stop the Thalmor. I mean the Stormcloaks and the Empire are too caught up in their own war to care, although the Stormcloaks are known for their dislike of the Elves but I don't think they would be able to drive them out. Not while having to deal with a Skyrim torn apart by war. And with no one to drive them out, I don't want to even think about what they would do to my home.

_All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!_

_In your great honor, we drink and we sing._

_We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives._

_And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!_

If you haven't guessed by now, I'm dying. It's so ironic. It wasn't a dragon or a vampire or anything that should fell a hero. It was a poisoned arrow. It hit me in exactly the right spot between my armor. I didn't pack any potions. It was just supposed to be routine hunting trip. I didn't count on the Forsworn being here. At least, I was able to kill them all before I died, but then again how many lives have I taken compared to how much has changed? I tried to crawl as close as I could to Whiterun but the poison coursing through me has rendered movement nearly impossible, but I can see the city, the place I called home. I wonder how Lydia's doing, even if she was just my housecarl she was still a friend. It's getting hard to write so I better wrap this up.

_We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone._

To whoever finds this letter, please report back to Whiterun and tell the Jarl what happened. Tell him to notify the other holds, and someone please contact a man named Klimmek and tell him to leave a note with his next supply shipment to the Greybeards informing them of my passing, although I'm sure they already know. Tell everyone I wish to be remembered as the man I was, not the hero the stories say I am. I just hope someone finds my body before the wolves do.

_For the age of oppression is now nearly done._

The Dovahkiin slowly set down the piece of charcoal he had used to scrawl his final words on a piece of paper he has scavenged off one of the Forsworn. He let the note sit on his leg hoping someone would find it, someone would find out what happened. But soon all the hope he had along with all of his fear and pain faded from him, as the light in his eyes faded also.


End file.
